by Penny Kline
Turning back to the car she waited for a cyclist to pass and at the same moment the front door opened and Brigid stood there, holding Rebecca. Her dressing gown hung loose, revealing a flowered nightdress, and when she saw Kristen she gave an involuntary shudder. ‘Kristen? Are you all right? Has something happened? Alex is asleep. A meeting. He didn’t get home until after ten.’
‘I’ll come back in the morning.’
Brigid hesitated. ‘You’d better come in.’
Kristen followed her into a small room at the front that looked as though it was used as a study. Rebecca was whimpering but when Brigid offered her a bottle she jerked her head away. The design of blue and green sheep on her sleep suit was rather like Theo’s duvet, and the poppers on the legs were undone as though Brigid had been in the middle of changing her nappy. She must have looked through the bedroom window and seen her standing outside the front door.
‘I’ve been talking to someone called Pascale,’ Kristen said.
‘Pascale?’ Unless Brigid was suddenly an extremely good liar the name meant nothing. ‘She and William were friends. No, they weren’t sleeping together, or if they were it’s irrelevant now.’
Brigid sat down with the baby on her lap. ‘Who is she then?’
‘She told me about the arrangement you and Alex made with William.’
‘Arrangement?’ But this time her face showed fear. ‘I haven’t the first idea what you’re talking about. I know what a strain you’ve been under but –’
‘She told me William was Rebecca’s father.’
The baby had started to slide down Brigid’s legs. Kristen reached out to grab her but Brigid managed to catch her under the arms, haul her onto her shoulder, and walk across to the window, where she held back one of the curtains and stared out at the dark.
During the day the temperature had dropped. The room felt chilly. A dead bluebottle lay on the carpet next to a rag book with a picture of a baby donkey.
‘It’s true.’ Brigid still had her back turned but the fear in her voice had been replaced by something like relief. ‘I’m sorry, I can imagine how it must make you feel but it was done in a completely clinical way. I expect it goes on all the time. I expect it’s quite common.’
Rebecca was clutching her mother’s hair in her fist. Kristen looked at the small pink hand and felt a mixture of dislike and longing. ‘We weren’t supposed to come back from America,’ she said, ‘least of all to Bristol.’
‘William promised not to.’ Brigid had her head on one side, listening for sounds from upstairs, but the house was silent. ‘Mainly because I was afraid you might find out.’
‘How would I have done that? Oh, you thought William wouldn’t be able to resist telling me. Or when I saw Rebecca I would recognise the likeness. How often did you meet up after we came back? How many times did William see her?’
‘Only once. He begged to see her and I agreed, provided he swore never to get in touch again.’ Rebecca was wide awake now and enjoying the unexpected arrival of a visitor in the middle of the night. Brigid let go of the curtain and moved towards the door. ‘Can we talk about this in the morning, Kristen, I have to put Rebecca back in her cot.’
‘I told you how Shannon saw you and William together, near Oldbury Court.’
‘And I told you we just happened to bump into each other.’
‘Where was Rebecca?’
‘Look, what is this?’ Brigid’s eyes were very bright. ‘I can understand why you’re upset but … Alex was looking after her. I needed a break.’
‘You could have walked on the Downs but you chose to drive all the way to the Oldbury Estate? I came round tonight because I thought you deserved a chance to explain. I could have gone straight to the police.’
‘The police!’
‘I wanted to make sure Pascale had got it right. Shannon said the two of you were arguing then she heard you shouting.’
Alex was standing in the doorway, fully dressed, and wearing his glasses. ‘It was my idea,’ he said, ‘I bought a speculum and syringe. That’s how they do it these days and it’s just as Brigid said, a medical procedure involving a surrogate father. It doesn’t harm anyone and alleviates the suffering of thousands of childless women.’
‘And it worked first time?’ Kristen said.
‘Why shouldn’t it?’ Alex ignored the sarcasm in her voice. ‘In any case, it’s still possible Rebecca’s mine. We’ve never had tests, there wasn’t any point. To all extents and purposes she’s our biological child. I’m sorry about what happened to William, desperately sorry, but telling people about Rebecca won’t help. Think of Theo.’
Up to that moment Kristen had felt unnaturally calm. Now she felt adrenaline surge through her body. ‘Who are you fooling, Alex? Brigid was in love with William. All that stuff about a speculum and syringe … There’s an easier way than that to get pregnant. Brigid pestered him for weeks, wanted him to leave me so the two of them … the three of them could live together. When he refused, she met up with him to have one last try. Then when he still wouldn’t agree…’
‘Live together?’ Alex shouted. ‘You’re mad, you don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I think I do.’ But in that split second Kristen knew what had really happened. It wasn’t Brigid who had killed William. She loved him and would have done anything to save him.
The veins stood out on Alex’s forehead. ‘He threatened me,’ he shouted, ‘even suggested he might be prepared to move away if I made him a good enough offer. And after that? He couldn’t even make a go of the job in Ohio. Why should I have believed anything he said? A psychopath, that’s what he was, totally without any scruples or morals and –’
‘So you killed him.’
‘It was an accident. I never meant …’ He moved closer to Brigid but she pushed him away. ‘Rebecca’s the best thing that’s ever –’
‘You attacked him and he fell from the bridge, then you walked away, or ran I expect, leaving him there, knowing if you’d called an ambulance…’
‘No! You’re wrong.’
‘It must have been a relief when the police came up with their dog man theory. You could relax, you’d got away with it, especially if they never found their suspect. I wondered why Brigid suggested me for the job at the college. Now it all makes sense. Guilty conscience…’
With one quick movement Alex had left the room, and then the house. Brigid pushed Rebecca into Kristen’s arms and ran after him into the street, calling his name, pulling at the car door then stumbling and falling to her knees as the car shot forward.
Still holding the baby, Kristen ran down the steps to the pavement and hauled Brigid to her feet. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘What have you done?’ she wailed. ‘Where’s he going? I didn’t know. I promise I didn’t know.’
‘But you suspected,’ Kristen said. And the baby, William’s baby, looked up at her and smiled.
29
Alex Howell’s car had been spotted in a small parking area just off Brunel Lock Road. Tisdall was there now, leaning against his own car, staring down at the damp grass cuttings that had stuck to his shoes, then letting his eyes scan the horizon, taking in Ashton Park, the Suspension Bridge, The Paragon, the brightly painted backs of the terraced houses in Cliftonwood.
Two divers were searching for the body. Howell had left his jacket on the paving stones surrounding the water: a marker to save everyone trouble, make sure he would be found as quickly as possible?
Shortly after he left Grace, Tisdall’s phone had started ringing and the desk sergeant had informed him he had been trying to get in touch for several hours. Muttering something about the phone battery, Tisdall had asked what the problem was and been shocked to discover it was Kristen Olsen who wanted him.
‘What did she want?’
‘Wouldn’t say. Mentioned someone called Pascale. I tried to contact Martin Brake – he’d been working late in the office – but on his way home he got involved in a hit-and-ru
n accident.
Tisdall had rung Kristen’s number and when there was no reply driven straight round to the flat, meeting up with her as she stepped out of her car … He had been too late.
Now Brake was shouting his name. Tisdall left the car park and hurried towards the lock where he was in time to see the divers lift a dripping shape out of the grey water. Without his glasses, Howell looked different. People always did. A polythene bag had been attached to a length of twine round his waist. It was covered in black slime.
‘Bricks,’ one of the divers said, ‘enough to keep him at the bottom.’
Tisdall nodded, staring down at the lifeless face, wondering if anything he had done, or not done, would have made any difference. Kristen Olsen had described the events leading up to her leaving the Howells’ house in Redland. If she had been able to reach him on his mobile … If she had waited at the flat … But perhaps Howell had known all along it was only a matter of time.
Where had he found the bricks, and the bag and the twine? Had they been stored in the boot of his car or had he collected them together when he overheard Kristen talking to his wife? Would Kristen feel better now that Frith’s killer was dead or would she have preferred it if Howell had been convicted in a court of law? When the facts came out, or Howell’s version of the facts, he might have received a relatively light sentence, provided he could convince the jury Frith had taunted him, even attempted a spot of blackmail, and the fall from the bridge had been an accident. The charge might even have been reduced to manslaughter.
Tisdall looked at Brake, who had been crouched over the body but was now standing a few feet away, trying to look as if it was all in a day’s work.
‘If that woman at the club had told us everything she knew,’ he said.
Tisdall shrugged. ‘She thought Kristen might not want to pursue the matter.’ He was going to add that women were like that, more interested in ‘feelings’ than in justice being done, but he could imagine how Grace would have reacted to such a remark. ‘I can think of one person who’s going to breathe a sigh of relief. The dog man, whoever the poor bastard is.’
‘Rebecca’s just about to have her dinner,’ Brigid said. ‘Have you eaten?
‘Coffee would be fine. I’ll make it, shall I?’ It was like a repeat of the first time Kristen had visited the house. No, not the first time, that had been with William.
Today was September the third. Theo’s birthday, and three days since Alex’s body had been pulled from the lock. Brigid looked in desperate need of sleep but Rebecca was in high spirits, sitting in her bouncy chair, waving her arms and legs. Kristen filled the kettle, glancing at Brigid who had back to her, taking something from the fridge.
‘He didn’t look any different,’ she said. ‘He hadn’t been in the water very long.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Brigid gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘It was Alex’s idea. I’d been trying to get pregnant for years.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Kristen said again, wondering if she and Brigid would keep in touch, even become friends, held together by the past, not wanting to let go. There were so many unanswered questions. Had Alex been the man William had arranged to meet, or had he followed William, seen him go down to the river and decided to plead with him to leave Bristol? And what was the truth about Brigid’s relationship with William? Had they slept together and she had fallen in love with him, or was Alex’s account of Rebecca’s conception the truth but having William’s baby had created a bond with him? Why had she said she wanted to kill him? Because she loved him and he had rejected her?
Watching Brigid spoon food into Rebecca’s mouth, Kristen knew they were questions she would never ask. Perhaps William would have told her about Rebecca, but she doubted it since he had never told her the truth.
‘What will you do?’ she asked, and Brigid stood up and moved slowly towards the sink, carrying the empty bowl.
‘Go a long way away,’ she said, ‘probably to Suffolk where my parents live, although they’re getting rather old. There’ll be an inquest.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’ll be reported in the paper. One day Rebecca may read about it. Theo might too.’
‘Don’t think about it,’ Kristen said, wanting to touch her, to comfort her in some way, but uncertain if Brigid would like it.
He had forgotten it was Saturday and Julie would be home. She had accepted his explanation of why he had been out all night but complained that he should have phoned her. Now she would be ready to greet him, eager to hear about the night’s events.
When he reached the flat she was in the kitchen, cutting up tomatoes and arranging the slices in a bowl, along with the inevitable lettuce, cucumber, and the raw mushrooms she insisted on adding because they gave the salad a bit of class.
‘So you caught the man who did it. Liz Cowie will be pleased.’
‘Pulled him out of Brunel’s Lock.’
‘Dead?’
He nodded. He had no idea what Grace would decide but whatever happened he had to move out. Then, provided he gave it time, was careful not to put any pressure, and avoided using Serena as a reason for allowing him to return…
‘Now they’ll have to let you take all that leave that’s owed to you.’ Julie gave him a sidelong look that he would like to have interpreted as suspicion, although he knew she thought it was sexy. ‘Where would you like to go? Maybe we could afford something a bit more romantic than Spain or Portugal.’ She took a quiche from the oven. He hated quiche. ‘Anyway, wherever it is it’ll be nice to spend a bit of time together at last.’
Vi was coming down the stairs. She stood in the doorway for a moment then walked across to Kristen and enveloped her in a hug. ‘What can I say? Nothing that would make you feel any better. Neville called round to see Brigid yesterday but he didn’t stay long. The baby will be a help.’ She broke off. ‘There I go again with another of my crass remarks. How are you? Are you all right? If there’s anything I can do.’
‘Yes, anything at all.’ Neville handed Kristen a glass of wine.
It was the first time she had seen the two of them together. They were comfortable, relaxed, close friends who complemented one another, gave each other support, and love.
‘Rebecca looks very like William,’ Kristen said, ‘I don’t know why I never noticed it before.’
Vi gestured to her to sit down. ‘Neville thinks he may be able to find you some A level classes.’
‘Thank you.’
Neville fetched the bottle of wine then noticed that Kristen’s glass was still full. ‘Either at the college, or there are people prepared to pay for individual coaching in their own home. Good pay. It’s amazing how much parents will shell out. And not just parents, mature students who missed out the first time around.’
Kristen listened while Neville expanded on the subject, suggesting which subjects she could teach and how the hours could be arranged to suit her needs. They were trying to be practical but what she needed was someone who would listen, just sit and listen. Then listen all over again. She had spoken to Tisdall and the dog man had given himself up. Presumably he felt confident now that his pickpocketing would receive a relatively light sentence. Apparently, his girlfriend’s cousin had a boy at Theo’s old school and, when he heard how Theo had been returned to his birth mother, he had become obsessed with the injustice of it and felt it his responsibility to uncover the real murderer. Some hope of that but, according to Tisdall, he had confessed to following Kristen, ‘wanting to make sure she was safe.’ What had he thought Neville was going to do to her? But she could hardly tell Tisdall about the house in Fishponds.
Vi had lit a cigarette and was apologising for the state of the room. ‘This weekend I’m going to have a good clear-out. Might even do some dusting. Do you do dusting? I’ve never seen the point. Sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.’
‘Yes I do.’ Kristen looked round, taking in the sofa and chairs covered in an ugly blue and mauve material, a bamboo bookca
se, piled high with old newspapers and magazines, and a large open walnut bureau near the window that held a jumble of papers, sewing materials, and a glossy coffee table book about Marilyn Monroe.
The fact that she knew about Neville’s Wednesday evenings didn’t seem to bother him at all and if she had been going to stay in Bristol she might have accepted his offer of more work at the college. What was she going to do? Get right away, like Brigid, make a new life for herself. But where? How?
‘I don’t know what to tell Theo,’ she said.
‘Just follow your instincts.’ Vi leaned forward with her hands on her knees. ‘He won’t understand, not until he’s older, but he’ll take in enough to get the gist of it. After all, it’s not as if his father did something so terrible.’
‘No.’ Already Kristen was rehearsing in her head the conversation she intended to have with Ros. I’ve told Theo that William and the man he used to work for had an argument, a fight. There was an accident and later Alex was so upset about it … ‘It’s Theo’s birthday today,’ she said, ‘he’s nine. Ros’s friend John knows someone who’s making a documentary about London Zoo. Theo is being taken behind the scenes. He loves animals so he’ll really enjoy it.’
Vi and Neville exchanged glances. ‘Cameron came round,’ Neville said, ‘I hope you don’t mind but we thought it best to tell him.’
‘Only the bare bones,’ Vi added, ‘he’s been up in London, knew nothing of what had been going on.’
Kristen nodded. So he had come back to Bristol and not even bothered to get in touch.
‘That dog man character,’ Neville said. ‘How come the cops latched onto him as suspect number one and ignored all other possibilities?’
‘I don’t think it was quite like that.’ Now was not the time to start explaining how, in all likelihood, it had been the dog man who had told her to go to the house in Fishponds. How he must have been following Neville, thinking he was some kind of threat to her. Whatever had been going on in his distorted mind, it was over with now and best forgotten. The poor guy had probably been trying to clear his own name, pin the murder on someone else.